In The Dark
by Bumble23
Summary: I do not own any of these characters


**In the dark**

The kiss was tender, yet belied a passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for what felt like an eternity. As their lips touched, Carlos knew that it was wrong; he should draw back before he lost himself to her forever. When they parted, he noticed a flush to her cheeks, and yearned to take her in his arms, make her his. But he knew that was not to be. Stumbling away, she headed back from the riverbank, back to reality, leaving his senses reeling with the taste and touch of her, knowing this time he could not forget.  
That night as he lay in bed at the cottage, his mind wandered ceaselessly back to that moment by the river. His body was tired from the rigours of cooking in a busy pub all day, but he ached to hold her in his arms, to show her the depth of his feelings. Alas, it was not to be; it couldn t be. Too many people would get hurt, and he couldn t be sure that his own fragile heart could take another battering.

It had been a long time since Carlos had felt so deeply for someone. The last time it pained him still to think of it. Jane had been so beautiful, every time she'd met his eyes he'd felt the spark of true, and in the end fatal attraction. She had been someone else's wife too, although he was certain that, given time, he could have saved her. Carlos remembered, even now, their lovemaking, which had been rapturous, a release from the stress that surrounded the relationship. Countless times he had begged her to leave her husband, promised he would look after her and her children, whom he had grown to love. But something held her back-and he never could have been sure whether it was her Catholic beliefs or her fear of the unknown. She had begged him to give her more time, but in the end it was too late for that.

Her husband was alcoholic, and abusive with it, but she was bound to him by the common link of their children, and ultimately they were the force that kept her with him-until it was too late. One night, Roger Burnett had returned home, more drunk and dangerous than he had ever been. He had found out about his wife's infidelity, and was on the rampage. Dragging her out to the car, he had driven for miles with her as captive, until, in a moment of madness, he had swerved and the car had fallen down an embankment, ploughing into the trees as it fell.  
Burnett was killed on impact, which was at least some bitter compensation for Carlos, but Jane lay in a coma for weeks, being kept alive by a series of tubes and machines. Everything had been controlled by electronics, while her broken body attempted to recover. Carlos had kept a vigil at her bedside, and her sister, who had known about the affair for some time, became his uneasy confidante, as well as looking after Jane's children. Eventually, the doctors had told them there was no hope.

Carlos had been devastated. His one chance at rescuing Jane had failed, and now he would have to face the prospect of life without her. He was barely twenty-five, and had lost the one woman who could have made him happy. Kissing her goodbye for the final time, he had felt a sense of unreality. It wasn't until he returned home later that he realised the true extent of his loss. Pale and hollow eyed he had attended the funeral, aware of the recriminations in the eyes of Jane's family, leaving him in no doubt as to who they thought was to blame for her death. He'd wanted to shout that it wasn't his fault, that he had only tried to take her away from the monster who had killed her, but he kept quiet. He blamed himself for a great deal of what had happened, and he knew that, much as he had loved her, a part of it had been his fault.

It was soon after that that he'd moved away. It was too much to be around the familiar places and not be with her. A couple of flings followed, in time, but the women with whom he had relationships demanded too much, too soon, and so he'd left them. He had the kind of demeanour that women were drawn to, and he found it more and more difficult to retain his secret grief with their affectionate, suffocating onslaughts. He feared that if he let himself get too close, he'd never be free of his own guilt.

And so it was that he'd ended up in Emmerdale. Working for the agency, he'd been sent here, there and everywhere to cook, and the small village pub had appealed to him more than most of the places he'd worked. It was a place where he felt he could finally get on with his life. He'd come to Emmerdale on the third anniversary of Jane's death, and at that point he'd felt, at least, a partial sense of closure. When Bernice had offered him a permanent job he'd accepted without hesitation.

In the following months he'd learned the quirks of the village residents, sparred with Marlon about their rival allegiances and had his fair share of offers from women, which he'd politely turned down. He was genuinely happy for the first time. Then, as the days went on, he realised that the reason for his happiness wasn't entirely due to the peaceful tranquillity of the village. Someone was beginning to encroach on his thoughts, and on his heart. She was beautiful. Her kind heart touched his in a way that no woman had since Jane. When she announced her engagement to the Reverend Ashley Thomas, his heart, so newly reawakened, broke once more. But, ever the gentleman, he had stepped back from the situation and tried to push his feelings to one side, for her sake. He liked Ashley, that was the perverse thing, and he couldn t imagine taking away the happiness of two such innately good people. But still he dreamed of her, and ached for her, knowing all the while that it was terribly wrong.

Carlos couldn t pinpoint exactly when the shift in their relationship occurred, but it had deepened over time, from the excellent working rapport they'd always had to more flirtatious asides and innuendoes. Since Christmas, and the kiss that so nearly was, their relationship had been on a slow burn. He remembered how hard it had been not to respond to her kiss-but had walked away knowing he'd done the right thing. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and he wasn't sure now how it could be ignored any longer. As their lips had finally met for the first time, he felt a completeness that he hadn't felt since but there was no sense in thinking about it. She belonged to Ashley; he knew that. There was no way it could ever be. Falling asleep at last, he was haunted by dreams of Bernice and Jane.

The next morning he was subdued, but managed to keep up a passable banter with the other inhabitants of the cottage. He knew that the coming days were going to be hard. He had to work so closely with her, all the time knowing that he couldn t touch her. The tension in the air was palpable. Every time she brushed past him he felt a jolt run through his body, as if he'd been burned. All day they danced around each other, until it culminated in a heated row in the kitchen. When it came to a head, on a busy Friday night, he'd lost his temper, taken her in his arms and kissed her. She'd run out of the kitchen, flushed and flustered, but it hadn't been long before she'd sought him out at the cottage.

They'd retired to bed soon after. He remembered what it was like to finally hold her in his arms, to make love to her after all the waiting and yearning. He remembered the way she had responded to his touch, trembling, half in guilt half in ecstasy. She had clung to him like a woman possessed, her lips hardly leaving his own. He felt consumed by her, luxuriating in her warmth, in her passion, wanting to feel every inch of her body close to his own. He'd waited so long for her, half of him hoping it would never happen, half of him yearning for her touch. And now, in a rush of tears and frustration, they had given life to their passion.

In the weeks that followed they gave in to their desires, taking reckless chances, totally driven by the feelings they evoked in one another. Carlos felt revived, replenished by their love, but all the while there was a guilt that he couldn t shake. He knew that Nicola and Ashley would be destroyed if they ever found out, or so much as suspected that something was going on between himself and Bernice, and he also knew that things couldn t go on as they were. When Diane surprised them in the vicarage, well and truly in flagrante, things had to come to a head. But Carlos was in too deep just to walk away, he knew now, more clearly than he ever had, that he loved Bernice.  
When Bernice announced that she was going away for a little while, he was surprised that his heart didn't make a sound as it shattered. He knew, as she outlined her plans, that it was finished. It had to finish. The next few days were hell without her. Diane had made no bones about the fact that she was going to make his life as difficult as possible, and serving Ashley on the other side of the bar, his jovial, smiling face seemed to taunt Carlos in his inner agony.

Two weeks later, she came back. Returning from Sorrento earlier that evening, sun-tanned and seemingly more at peace with herself, Carlos had to fight the urge to take her in his arms there and then. After greeting her mother effusively, she had looked him in the eye, and, obediently, he had followed her into the back room. Locking the door behind her, she turned to face him. And the look in her eyes told him it was over.

"Carlos" she murmured softly, meeting his gaze.

"I know what you're going to say," he replied. And you're right. I've handed in my notice to Diane, I'll be out of here by the end of the month."

For a moment she looked shocked, the hurt registering in her eyes in a look that cut Carlos to the bone. For the hundredth time since she'd gone away he felt his heart breaking. Then, she recovered herself, that old Bernice dignity reasserting itself in her gaze.

"Well, I think it's for the best, don't you?" she replied, trying to inject a casual tone into her voice.

No! No I don't! he wanted to scream. But instead, "Yes. For all of us." He dropped his gaze.

There was a silence between them, but Carlos sensed that some of the old indecision was coming back to Bernice. He wanted to beg her to go away with him, to turn her back on everything and give herself to him entirely, but he knew she would never do that. Looking back at her, seeing her facade of resolve, masking the conflict that he knew was still within, he knew it was time to give up. For her sake.  
Bernice assumed a bright tone. "Right then, better get back to it, I suppose." But something in her eyes flickered, and Carlos reached out a hand to caress her cheek. She shied away.

"Don't. Please." She looked up at him once more, unable to hide her uncertainty this time.  
Without a word he reached for her again, knowing that what he did was wrong, but being irresistibly drawn to the woman in front of him. As he pulled her close, his eyes filled with tears. They embraced for what felt like an eternity, trying to gain strength that neither had to give. Carlos could feel her heart beating wildly against his own, and sensed that her own tears were joining his. It was no use trying to pretend to each other; they knew what they had to do, but it didn't make things any easier to bear.

A MONTH LATER

Carlos looked back at the familiar doors of the Woolpack one more time. This part of his life was overhead just have to accept that. The parting from Nicola had been terrible, but necessary. She had begged him to stay, tears streaming from her beautiful eyes as she'd berated herself for his decision, and no amount of convincing had persuaded her that it wasn't her fault. Eventually Carlos had calmed her down, and left her in the care of Diane, who had given him an even stare as he left. There was one person who wouldn't weep for him tonight, that much he knew.

He'd said his goodbyes last night to most of the regulars, and Alan had wished him well. Ashley had warmly shaken his hand, and Carlos had tried not to give anything away, merely saying "You're a lucky man, Ashley." Bernice had put her public face on-the ever convivial landlady and employer, but he was sure he hadn't misread the flicker of sadness and regret in her eyes as she'd handed him a farewell drink. It was too late to turn back.  
Now, packing his few belongings into the car, he turned around and looked at the pub. He was caught for a moment, sealing it into his memory for as long as he could. When he turned back round, she was there.

"I just came to say goodbye." Her voice was soft and gentle, with the tremble of unshed tears.

He met her gaze once more. "I'll miss you." He replied simply.

"I'll miss you too." She responded.

Smiling ruefully, he shook his head. "No you won't Bernice. You've got everything you want right here. Enjoy it."  
Before he could turn around, she reached forward and embraced him. "Take care "she whispered softly, her breath on the back of his neck making him tingle.

"You too. Bernice, I- He couldn't continue, the pain threatened to overwhelm him once more.

"Me too." She replied, perhaps misunderstanding, perhaps not.

As he turned away from her, the tears spilled, and he wiped his eyes hurriedly. "Say goodbye to Ashley for me?" He stammered.

"I will."

Quickly he opened the car door and got in. "Look after yourself Bernice, and look after Nicola."

She nodded, unable to speak again as she saw the wetness of his eyes.

Turning the key, he pulled away from the kerb, leaving Bernice, the village and everything else he'd held dear there. He could see Bernice in the rear-view mirror, frantically wiping her own eyes as she saw him leave.  
Sometime later, he pulled off the road and parked the car. Stepping out onto the kerb he picked up the small bunch of primroses he'd picked from the garden of the cottage before leaving. He turned the corner and headed into the shadowy graveyard, seeking the headstone of his lost love. In little time he found it, resting peacefully in the shadow of an ancient yew. It was bare except for a wilted bunch of daffodils. Putting them to one side, he refilled the jar and placed the primroses into it, putting them back neatly by the stone.

In loving memory of  
Jane Elizabeth Burnett  
cherished wife and mother  
1972-1998  
Angels keep thee at thy rest, dear one.

He hoped she was at peace now, and wished that he could find some of his own. Coming back here after so long seemed strange but necessary. He stood for a long time, just looking at the headstone, trying to conjure a picture of Jane's face in his mind, but all he could see was Bernice. They melded into one being, in his thoughts, encompassing all the pain and loss that he'd felt and torturing him with their amalgamated smile. He stood at the graveside, hoping that Jane could hear his thoughts, wherever she was. He yearned for peace.  
Eventually, when he came back from his thoughts, he wandered away. It was no use-there was nothing more to say. Sitting down on an old park bench, he put his head in his hands and wept, his sobs coming from deep within, lamenting for the loss of the only person since Jane who had made him happy.


End file.
